


Waffles

by nevertrustastark



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Baking, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Roommates, Stress Baking, Waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-07 21:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17968622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertrustastark/pseuds/nevertrustastark
Summary: Steve Rogers likes to bake, okay?And Bucky...Bucky learns.





	Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written January 2016. Some ideas that never came to fruition.

The sunlight filtered sleepily through the windows, curtains half closed, casting a warm glow throughout the room. Dust motes swirled in front of faded books with split spines and dog eared pages. Bucky Barnes cracked open his eyes, mentally trying to peel back the layers of sleep coating his body. The blankets were cocooned warmly around him, and so he simply snuggled deeper into the covers, face still mushed against the pillow.

Bucky slit his eyes once more, gaze falling upon the bed next to his. Pristinely made, sheets tucked crisply in, pillows neat against the headboard. And, quite obviously empty.

Steve.

Bucky was instantly awake, shrugging off the blankets and gingerly poking his toes out into the chilly air. He padded lightly out into the living room, looking for his friend. After poking his head around the kitchen door, he scanned over the fuzzy rugs he had bought just for winter, the beanbags and various pillows heaped haphazardly on the floor next to the worn couch, which was at odds with the mostly new furniture in the apartment. But it had been Steve’s, the one in his house back when they were kids. Bucky would never dream of getting rid of it, and not just because he knew how devastated Steve would be. He had secretly formed an attachment to the couch himself.

Overflowing bookcases bracketed the TV and one wall, while the other, wider wall was blank save for the explosion of paper that took up a quarter of the space. Drawings, sketches, pencil scribblings, quick ink pen doodles, colour schemes, and quite a few pages of deliberate writing - Steve’s writing. The rest of the wall was blank.

Bucky’s head turned to gaze out the window at the golden light, criss-crossed by bare tree branches, which had a light dusting of snow. His eyes fell on the figure leaned up against the wall, also staring out, a blank look in his crystal blue eyes. Despite himself, Bucky couldn’t help but admire the way Steve’s golden hair positively danced with light from the sun.

His friend was hunched over, skinny arms wrapped around his thin legs, faded blue pinstriped pyjamas that matched his eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, breaking the silence. Steve turned his head, hair falling into his eyes, and gave him the tiniest of smiles, lips barely turning up at the corners. In fact, it was only because Bucky had known Steve so long that he even knew the smile was there.

“Couldn’t sleep?"

“It was cold.” Steve’s voice was a little hoarse so early in the morning, and he swallowed visibly, as if trying to clear it.

“Oh Stevie, you know how easily you get sick. Why didn’t tell me? I could have turned up the heat,” Bucky admonished gently.

“Didn’t want to wake ya,” Steve mumbled. Bucky was torn between rolling his eyes and smiling adoringly. They had the same conversation every morning, with Steve always up first for some reason or another, then Bucky would get a little ruffled at the fact that Steve was basically offering himself up to the illnesses. It was like he wanted to get sick.

“Waffles?” Bucky asked as he did every Sunday. Steve nodded once.

“ ‘m comin’.”

Bucky yawned again and shuffled over to the kitchen, first heading over to the kettle to start the water boiling. Tea. He needed the sweet rush before he could begin to even think about thinking about doing something even the slightest bit productive. Reaching inside the cabinet, he pulled out flour, sugar and baking powder. Turning around to set the ingredients on the counter, he saw Steve rummaging in the fridge for milk, eggs and butter.

They began to prepare their breakfast, working like a well-oiled machine - Bucky beating the eggs as Steve measured and mixed the dry ingredients.

Bucky poured the milk and Steve sliced in some butter, then narrowed his eyes at the bowl, then at Bucky. A little smirk crossing his mouth, he said, “You forgot the salt again, Buck.”

Bucky sighed in frustration and poked his tongue out at Steve, who simply laughed as he began mixing both wet and dry ingredients together. Steve had always been the better of the two at cooking, so Bucky just leaned against the counter as he watched Steve spoon the batter into the waffle iron, brows tugged together in concentration, his lips pursed.

The sunlight had crept over the room and into the kitchen. Gold kissed Steve’s hair and made his pale skin even lighter, which in turn made his lips look pinker. Bucky bit his own lip as he stared openly at Steve (Bucky knew Steve wouldn’t notice a thing if he was concentrating so heavily). Steve looked rather radiant in the morning light, and Bucky sighed to himself. To think that he shared a living space with the glorious wonder and enigma that was Steve Rogers…To think that despite all they were, Bucky could never truly be anything more to Steve than he was now.

Bucky frowned, and it was that moment that Steve chose to look up from closing the iron. He raised a perfect eyebrow in a silent question, but Bucky simply shook his head and grinned. Steve smiled happily back. Grabbing a mug, Bucky filled it with water and dunked a bag of English Breakfast into it, letting it steep for a few minutes before dumping it full of sugar. Steve shook his head in mock disgust at the sweetness of Bucky’s tea. (Steve took his coffee black).

The waffles were stacked onto two plates, perfectly crisp on the outside but warm and fluffy on the inside. Bucky handed the maple syrup to Steve, who began filling the holes in his waffle with syrup in a checkerboard pattern. Bucky couldn’t suppress an adoring smile at his friend’s behaviour, though it was familiar.

Steve set the syrup down on the table and then stared happily at his breakfast, giving his body an excited little wiggle at the prospect of eating. Bucky felt his heart clench.

They finished breakfast, dumping the dishes into the sink. Bucky wandered over to the crowded bookshelves, running his hands over the familiar spines. Though it was a bright day and he was feeling peaceful after the waffles and his morning dose of Steve, Bucky decided on a thriller.

"The Girl on the Train? Again?” Steve huffed with amusement from where he sat curled up in his corner of the sofa, sketchpad on his knees.

“Hey, it’s good,” Bucky said, defending it.

“You’re defending a book…” Bucky heard Steve whisper quietly to himself, and chuckled.

Plopping down, Bucky curled up as well, crossing his legs up to his chest and holding the book with arms wrapped around his knees. Although it looked highly uncomfortable, it was customary to for Bucky to pretzel himself into all sorts of weird positions while reading, and Steve didn’t even bat an eyelid.

They sat in silence for a while, punctured only by the faint scratch of Steve’s pencil and the occasional turn of Bucky’s page. With a gut feeling that came only with years of knowing Steve, Bucky eventually became aware of his friend’s eyes, flicking up towards the kitchen and then looking back down to his paper.

The only sign Bucky gave that he had noticed was to allow his mouth to curve up slightly and indulge for a few seconds the notion that Steve might be looking at him, rather than staring at empty space behind Bucky for inspiration.

Then he promptly took that thought, boxed it up, and shoved it away into the dark, dusty corner of his mind that was called ‘Things James Buchanan Barnes Should Not Be Thinking About (Or, Steve Rogers).’ Out of all the corners of his mind,Steve Rogerswas by far the fullest corner. Not for the first time, Bucky thanked whatever gods there were that Steve was not telepathic.

Heaven help him if Steve figured out what Bucky really thought about him. It would probably send Steve running for the hills.

In the quiet, it was easy for Bucky’s ears, well trained to Steve’s movements, to pick up the faint shuffling and rustling that came from the opposite side of the couch. Steve was fidgeting, never a good sign. Bucky frowned at his book, but didn’t say anything. It never did any good to point out when Steve became nervous.

* * *

 

Bucky climbed the steps up to their apartment, sniffing the air as he did so. It smelled suspiciously sweet.Turning the key in the lock, Bucky pushed open the door and was met with the sight of Steve running his hands through his already mussed blonde hair.

The kitchen countertop was a war zone - half empty bowls, singed baking paper, various ingredients spilling over. But on the dining table were platoons of baked goods - a dozen cupcakes with perfectly intact peaks, heaps of cookies (and judging by the cinnamon wafting towards him, they were snickerdoodles) and what appeared to be several trays of brownies. At the edge of it all, sitting by itself, was a small bowl of mashed potatoes.

Suddenly the two slices of banana bread he clutched in the paper bag felt horribly inadequate. This was not helped by the fact that Bucky’s mind had finally registered what the excessive cooking meant - an oncoming panic attack.

Steve had many methods of relieving his stress, and cooking was one of them. Usually it was only a muffin or two, sometimes a pound cake. But on this level…it had to be really bad. And he had left Steve alone. Bucky cursed himself inwardly even as he allowed his face to break out into the admiring smile that was never far away when Steve was around.

“Hey, Stevie. I, uh, got us something, but I don’t think that’s necessary,” Bucky held up the sad-looking paper bag with a wry grin.

“Sorry Buck, I couldn’t help it,” Steve apologised sheepishly, looking up at Bucky from under his lashes, one hand resting on the back of his neck, his head tilted to one side. Bucky felt his stomach flop.

“Nah, s’fine. At least it means we have dinner,” Bucky hastened to reassure his friend. “Let’s eat."

Even though Steve kept up cheerful banter as they both ploughed through the desserts, Bucky’s eyes caught subtle differences in his behaviour, though he made no comment. For instance, Steve's hands shook more and more as time went on, and his head began sporadically jerking ever so slightly. By the time they were on to the cupcakes, Steve had begun licking his lips too, although to a stranger this would have just looked like he was enjoying the icing.

When Steve bit his lip as he reached for his water, Bucky’s resolve not to say anything snapped.

“Stevie, are you sure you’re alright?” The instant Bucky asked, he wished he could shove the words back inside his windpipe. Steve’s eyes became hooded and his face closed in on itself.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” he said, voice clipped.

“Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Hey, wanna watch a movie?” Bucky could hear himself scrambling to try and keep the mood light. The shutters lifted from around Steve’s face.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great."

Leaving the ravished dishes on the table, Steve shuffled over to the couch and curled up into a ball. When Bucky didn’t immediately sit down beside him, he looked up expectantly.

“I’ll be a minute."

Steve nodded. Bucky dimmed the lights, then tiptoed into the bedroom and pulled the blankets off his bed before returning to the sofa. He cracked open a DVD case and slotted a disc into the TV.

“What movie?” Steve asked him, but all Bucky did was sit next to his friend, throwing the blanket over them and one arm around Steve. Steve immediately uncurled and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, nudging his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

As Spirited Away’s Chihiro appeared on the screen, Steve wiggled excitedly, his elbows digging into Bucky’s side, his head falling back on the sofa.

Bucky desperately tried to ignore each and every one of Steve’s breaths that managed to catch the sensitive skin behind his ear with every exhale. He had to use his other hand to dig his fingernails into the fabric of the sofa to prevent little shivers of delight coursing through his body each time Steve’s breath touched his skin.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slowed, until it was only little puffs of air emanating from his open mouth. Loath to disturb him, Bucky reluctantly shrugged off the blankets and swooped Steve into his arms, carrying him to the bedroom.

Not once did Steve stir as Bucky tucked him into bed, save for his eyes underneath his lids moving restlessly through REM. Bucky stood there, watching him sleep.

A sudden, unbidden urge made Bucky lean down and gently press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. Quickly, he pulled away, checking Steve’s face for any sign that he had noticed.

As Bucky clambered into bed, he tried to rid his mind of the image of Steve’s lips curving up at the corners when Bucky kissed him.


End file.
